


Notes of a Song

by LadyBrooke



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Family, Gen, Politics, Songs of Power
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:55:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23724931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyBrooke/pseuds/LadyBrooke
Summary: Sauron is now Ar-Pharazôn's greatest adviser.Tar-Míriel has a letter with notes concerning a song of power and a kinslayer to combat this.
Comments: 12
Kudos: 54





	Notes of a Song

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for the SWG’s Notion Club Revival Challenge.

Tar-Míriel stood in the doorway, firm and unwavering. “You have brought Sauron to our shores as a prisoner, and now you greet him as an adviser.” 

“He is my greatest adviser, above all others,” Ar-Pharazôn said. “Do not forget your place. You are my wife, not my adviser. You are not the ruler and it is not for you to have any say in what I do.” 

“And I will not say anything more to you than this: You forget who he has killed. You forget what other powers remain in the world. And you forget that doom often comes from those forgotten.” 

Laughter erupted, not only from Ar-Pharazôn but from many in his court as well. Tar-Míriel remained silent as they laughed, blocking anyone else from entering.

Sauron alone stood unlaughing. “I have heard many others speak as you did, and yet they all fell long before you were born. You speak of elves when you speak of other powers, do you not? And yet Gil-galad will not come to this island, nor will the elves in Valinor defeat us. The great Elf-lords of the First Age are dead.” 

“Many of them, yes, some at your hands. They say Finrod Felagund died in your dungeons with those elves loyal to him, and that your wolves stalked men and elves. They say you betrayed the last elf who let you into your lands, though you tricked him and hid your true identity from him. Perhaps your power has diminished, that you can only kill elves through trickery instead of force.” She smiled as she spoke, words echoing off the tall walls of the room.

The court was silent. 

“Perhaps my lady would like to test her skill against Lord Sauron, if she believes he has fallen that far from power?” Ar-Pharazôn finally said. “You may be our first example to those who would doubt the power of Númenor.” 

“I would gladly do so, if I had the power. I do have some lines of song written by one of the greatest minstrels to walk Middle-earth. Your adviser and I are both aware that he almost fell in song to one of those not accounted amongst the greatest of all.” Tar-Míriel held up a paper as she spoke. “Or perhaps your adviser has forgotten that time in his haste to establish himself over you.”

At that, Sauron looked up. 

“Who do you speak of, my lady? Tinfang, who walks among the reeds and sings songs of power that lure sheep to sleep? Daeron, who wanders alone and sings of his lost love as he weeps?” Sauron’s mouth twisted. “Neither of them would be able to harm a wolf, let alone myself.” 

Tar-Míriel’s smile did not waver, as her voice rang out, echoes of power in it. “I speak of Maglor, son of Fëanor, kidnapper and foster father to the founding King of Númenor, Elros Tar-Minyatur.” She gestured to the painting of Elros as she spoke. “Was it not Maglor’s nephew you tricked and betrayed, and then used Celebrimbor’s body like a banner in your next battle?”

“It was, my lady, but I do not know what you hope to gain from this exchange. Maglor wanders the shores of Middle-earth alone, mourning his fate. Whatever scrap of song you have found in some old book of Tar-Minyatur’s is unlikely to help you, if it was written by Maglor at all.” Sauron stood taller. “You speak of naught but a fairy tale you believe will turn the tide and bring your supporters back to you.”

She held the paper up. “But I did not find it in an old book, Abhorred One. I received it in the last batch of letters to reach these shores, along with a note that he would arrive as soon as he could, but this song would provide some protection if I needed it prior to his arrival.”

Sauron tensed briefly, unnoticed by most as the court stared at Tar-Míriel. Then he breathed out. “But you do not have the power to do so, most likely, and he is not here. For what Son of Fëanor would hide in the shadows and send you as his messenger?”

A new voice rang out, familiar only to Tar-Míriel and Sauron. “One willing to repay treachery with tricks, Sauron.”

Tar-Míriel stepped to the side, and Maglor entered the room.

Sauron took a half step back before stepping forward in front of the court. “Prince Kanafinwë, I wish I could say it was a pleasure to meet you again.”

“If the Valar had done their jobs properly, Sauron, the only meeting you would have had this century was with your master in the void,” Maglor took a step forward, one hand on his sword and the other reaching in front of Tar-Míriel. “Since they evidently missed you in whatever hole you hid yourself in long enough to be forgotten and then to free yourself and trick my nephew to his death, I suppose it falls to me to ensure you are not left to roam free for another age.”

“And you think you can defeat me, Son of Fëanor? Your cousin, as your messenger pointed out, did battle with me in song and died. Your nephew faced me with sword and died. We could recount old history for the rest of the day, but it would make no difference. You cannot win,” Sauron said. 

“But I already have,” Maglor said, and began to sing as the roof of the room started to shake. 

Sauron stood, and opened his mouth, words echoing through the hall as he sang. The court fell to the ground as one, but Maglor stood unflinching beside Tar-Mariel, who had the same smile still on her face.

The battle continued in song into the night, as most in the court gathered the courage to flee. First those who had been least willing to listen to Sauron in the beginning, followed by those more willing to listen. Bottom of Form

At least, the room was clear of all but Sauron and Ar-Pharazôn on one side and Maglor and Tar-Míriel on the other.

“Will you not flee while you have the chance, Ar-Pharazôn?” Tar-Míriel said watching the battle. “Your chance to do so is ever shrinking.”

“You brought a Kinslayer and an elf to these shores,” he answered. “This is naught by some elven trick you are using to take the throne.”

“It was to be my throne to begin with,” she said. “And you would have brought doom upon these lands.”

“They will not be yours to rule, even if your elf kills me. How could they accept someone who has her own husband killed as their Queen?” Ar-Pharazôn said from the ground, where he had remained since the song began.

“I do not intend to be their Queen past your death,” she said. “I will leave that to one of our relatives, though I suspect the people will prefer one of the Faithful after they realize all your sacrifices were pointless and the King’s adviser was defeated by a single elf, even if that elf is one of the greatest singers of all time.”

“You would leave your responsibilities behind?”

Tar-Míriel’s eyes remained locked on the battle, as a crater of lava opened in the floor.

“Sauron will fall today, even if not for good. The greatest of my responsibilities has been to protect Númenor, and I believe his death will do so,” she finally said. “If I remained, civil war would likely occur. It is best that I depart following this.”

Ar-Pharazôn was silent as the song ended, the heat from the lava overwhelming him.

Maglor walked over to her and pulled her out the door. “Sauron has fled to some dark hole. His ring was not destroyed in the lava, so I shall have to find a different way to destroy it.”

“We will,” Tar-Míriel answered.

“You could remain and be queen,” Maglor said.

She shook her head. “I spoke true to Ar-Pharazôn. If I remain, there can be naught but division. One of our relatives may take up the throne, preferably one of the Faithful who had been plotting their escape if Sauron’s plans doomed us all.”

“It was your plan and letter to me that did save them.”

“But they will see nothing but the death of Ar-Pharazôn, even if they hated him, and they will wonder if you will come and kill more of those who disagree with me.”

Tar-Míriel removed the crown from her head and sat it on a table they were passing. “Your brother gave up his crown when he decided he was not the best to be king of the Noldor. Will you not accept my decision as you did his?”

Maglor sighed. “I argued bitterly with Maedhros, and only accepted when he pointed out that if he and I both died, Celegorm would be king, and Fingolfin’s followers would never accept Celegorm. I would have you remain Queen, but I will not argue against you, Little Míriel.”

She smiled again, small and hesitant. “May I come with you on your return to your shores?”

Maglor quirked a smile as well. “If you intend to give up your throne, it is best that you do. I shall likely have to face both Elrond and Gil-galad on my return.”

“Am I to keep Elrond from fretting over you or soothe political matters with Gil-galad?” she asked.

“We will know which after we have reached there,” Maglor said. “At the least, you can provide more details as to Sauron’s actions here than I would be able to.”

They reached the doorway to the palace and stepped into the hot sun, without a hint of storm clouds in the sky.


End file.
